Under the Water
by Mischa Clark
Summary: Magara Lyons knew the rebellion like the back of her hand, her father made sure of that. Thanks to him, she could look the Hunger Games in the eye without fear. She was prepared to fight, what she wasn't prepared for was a seven year old boy to be reaped with her. Or the intriguing peacekeeper who seemed to hold her in high regards for her humanity in a world that had none left.
1. Prologue

_A/N: Hope you all like this one! I'm trying to make it a little darker and more intense than Into the Sea, so I hope you enjoy! Reviews are always welcome! Thanks for reading friends;)_

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Prologue

People say that before you die, your life appears to you in flashes. They say that you can see every high, every low and every mistake that you made. As a person who had knocked on death's door I can tell you from experience that this doesn't happen. In fact, when you know you're about to die, you don't see anything. It's just darkness. Like there is no promise of anything else. That was the scariest part about my encounters with death, the darkness felt final.

At 80 years old, the only person I have in the world to truly communicate with is myself. There are people who love me and care about me, but I can't speak or write, and my pointing and mumbling can get annoying, I realize that. It gets annoying for me too, it's frustrating when you need to say something and it turns into a game of charades. They're good to me, though, Finnick and Annie. And despite whatever rumors fly around District Four, nothing that has ever happened to me has ever been their fault. It hasn't been anyone's fault. I lost what I lost because of my own mistakes. Honestly, it's almost insulting to blame someone else for my hardships. They are mine. Maybe that's why death feels so final, because in the end you're the only person you have. There's no one who can comfort you in death.

My thoughts were turning dark, which wasn't surprising considering what night it was. A shiver went up my spine as I listened to the anthem play. It was a tune I'd heard a million times, but it still reminded me of the evil man on my television screen, the one who helped enable this psychotic world.

Snow crossed the stage like he did on any other broadcast, waving to the audience and throwing his fists in the air like he'd done something noble. I rolled my eyes at him and Finnick chuckled, placing my hand in his. Annie did the same from the other side of me. I patted her hand, knowing that this night was harder on her than anyone else.

"Good evening, Panem!" Snow shouted over the cheers. "I'm here to make a very important announcement. Now I know that this night is a celebration to a lot of you on any other year, but this year is special, and I know that you're all especially excited about it so I think we should get right to it, don't you?" The cheers erupted, and Snow's assistant brought him an old looking box. Snow slowly reached into the box, letting the audience get to the edges of their seats. Finnick and Annie did the same on either side of me.

I sat still, suddenly getting an ominous sinking feeling in my stomach like something very bad was about to happen. Snow pulled out the browning paper and unrolled it, tossing the ribbon aside. "In honor of the 75TH Annual Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell, the tributes will be drawn from the pool of already existing Victors."

My heart sank the rest of the way to the bottom of my being. I knew exactly what it meant. Finnick and Annie stared at the television screen, confused expressions on both of their faces. When they turned to look at each other, the hopelessness that they felt consumed the room. Two people who had tried so hard to fight, were ultimately losing. Annie jumped to her feet, "I can't go back in there."

"Shh," Finnick was across the room and had his arms around her quickly, "It won't be you love, there are thirteen other women from our district to choose from. You'll get through it, I promise." He made eye contact with me and I could see that even he knew he was wrong.

This wasn't just about Katniss and Peeta. They may be the reason that this Quell exists, but Snow will use the opportunity to break up Finnick and Annie too. They may not be as powerful as Katniss and Peeta, but their love was a dark cloud hanging over Snow. If rumors of Finnick and Annie ever reached the Capitol, Finnick's 'career' could be ruined. But it was Snow who wanted to prevent that.

Finnick quickly said goodbye to me and then ushered Annie from my house, mumbling to her about drawing her a bath, getting some warm clothes on and going to bed. I wanted to do the same. But I knew I'd be up for hours. I had to come up with a plan, there had to be something I could do to stop this.

Feeling hopeless was the worst thing to feel. I am an old woman missing the ability to speak, what could I do to save anyone? Hours passed as I sat there, running through Snow's words, Finnick and Annie's reactions, trying to figure out what this meant for not only them, but Katniss and Peeta and also Panem. How would people react? What would the Capitolites have to say?

My door opened again and I waited until Finnick sat down beside me to pat his knee. "You knew I'd be back, huh?" he asked, sighing and closing his eyes. I knew it must have been a long night for him. I nodded and he ran his hand across his face. "It'll be us, won't it?" he asked.

He took his time meeting my eyes, and when he did, I nodded again. I'd only seen Finnick Odair cry a handful of times since I'd known him, and this was one of them. I poked his shoulder to get his attention and then I shook my head. "No what?" he asked.

I pointed to myself. His eyebrows came together, "You what, Mags?" I sighed. I pointed to his heart, "love" I mumbled. He nodded, "yes, I love you," he almost laughed, "What's that got to do with it?"

"Annie." I tried. "Yes," he hesitated, "I love Annie. Very much."

"Annie….no….fight…" Either he needed to process the words or he needed to think about my mumbles and try to figure out what words I'd meant to say. Usually it was the latter, and when his eyes darted up to mine, I pointed at myself again.

He shook his head fiercely, "No. No, Mags. You can't. I won't let you take her place. I can't lose you," the tears were reappearing in his eyes. I knew that Finnick would struggle with this, no matter what, he'd be losing one of us. He'd be fighting beside one of us in that arena. And I knew it couldn't be Annie. For both their sakes, it couldn't be Annie.

I touched his face, calming him and trying to communicate how much I loved him and needed to do this. He'd come to terms with it. I'd never want for him to have to choose between me and Annie. I was 80 years old, I'd lived my life. I'd experienced love. They were only in the middle of their story. They deserved to fight, but they couldn't both fight from inside that arena.

"Why?" he asked, tears still falling for the loved one he knew he was about to lose, and maybe his own life in the process. I could have told him I was doing it for him, for Annie, for them both, for their love, for myself, anything. But any of those answers would make him feel guilty and they'd only be a fraction of the truth. There was one main reason that I would do this. That we were both doing this.

So instead I said, "Rebellion."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I lived the first five years of my life in a world that was on fire with rebellion. I was born into the revolution, and the fighting and animosity was all I'd known. My dad had taught me about things like safe spots and mockingjays and hideouts. At two years old I learned that when you heard the airplanes flying overhead, you ran. You hid. You waited for them to be over before you came out.

But the rebellion was over. We were on the losing side. The Capitol figured out that we were using mockingjays to communicate between districts, and it was over. I hardly remember the revolution years that I was born into, but they surely made me who I am. I have vivid memories of the war, and I was taught how to hold a gun on my third birthday. Most parents sheltered their children from the fighting, sang them songs, read them stories or covered their ears when the planes came. My father wanted me to be fighter. And a fighter he got. No one hated the Capitol more than me. Besides my dad, maybe.

Other kids were afraid of me in school. I was never the victim of any bullying because every child knew that I could kill them with my pinkie if I needed to. My father made sure of that. I was the kid that the parents warned their kids to stay away from. Maybe it was because they feared my dad, but they weren't wrong to tell their kids to steer clear. All the hatred and anger I felt running through my veins came from him. I liked it better this way, I knew truths about the rebellion that most kids were sheltered from.

But I'm seventeen now, and the world is a new kind of horror. We didn't only lose the war, we were now given the cruelest form of punishment. President Grant didn't want to just kill us all. In all honesty, he couldn't. Not unless he wanted to wipe out 90% of Panem. The rebels had the numbers, by far. We just didn't have the weapons or connections to win the war. And since we lost, Grant wanted us to pay for going against him and the Capitol.

He needed a way that would punish every district, every citizen of the nation, constantly. And so The Hunger Games were born. For the past eight years, one boy and one girl had been chosen from each of the twelve districts and sent to various arenas to fight to the death. Only one child could win, and twenty three others died. Twenty three deaths each year, all because of the generation before us. It was the perfect punishment. Instead of making our parents suffer for their mistakes, Grant makes their children pay. Only a psychopath could think of something so disgusting.

And now we were at the ninth reaping. I stood with my section as we waited for the silly looking Capitol woman to pull out the names. She always gave the same speech, explaining why we were there. I'd been zoning her out since I was ten. You only had to be told that it was all your dad's fault once before you started getting tired of hearing it. I didn't blame him. It wasn't his fault, and it was foolish to think that any of us kids would resent our parents for fighting for our freedom. We knew why we were here.

"Magara Lyons!" I glanced up from the spot on the ground I'd been staring at. It took me a while to realize who had called my name, since everyone was staring at me. People usually cried for the other children before me, or shouted curse words at the Capitol. Today they were silent. I stepped out from the crowd and made my way to the stage. I wasn't feeling that nervous, but that might just be because my nerves hadn't kicked in yet.

"Milo Rhodes!" Shit, I'd missed it again. My eyes darted around the crowd, searching through my grade and the one above me for Milo Rhodes. And then I saw a little boy step out from the younger section. He looked no more than seven years old. He was even small compared to the other kids in his age group. He was out of the crowd and everyone was looking at him, but he just stood there with his hands behind his back, staring right at me.

"Come on, sweetheart, come on up here." The escort waved her hands at him, like he should be excited to have this chance, like he'd just won a fucking vacation or something. I stood up as the little boy kicked the dirt under his shoes. I wasn't sure why I was standing, and then I was even more confused when I started taking steps towards the boy. When I reached the stairs, he looked up at me and took a step backwards.

I held out my hands in surrender, offering him a friendly smile. The last thing I was known for was being friendly. Clearly this kid knew my reputation. I continued my slow walk towards the little boy and he wasn't running and screaming, so when I reached him I kneeled down. "Hi, my name is Magara, but you can call me Mags if you want."

I was horrible with kids. And animals, and people in general. But kids especially seemed to hate me. I had a hard time not talking to them like they were adults. I guess I just couldn't grasp their immaturity, it irritated me.

But not this little boy. He was all innocence and I pitied him for his misfortune. "I'm Milo." His voice was high and he pronounced his name like "Miyo". I pushed back the tears welling behind my eyes. No one had ever seen me cry, but they might be about to.

"Hi Milo, you don't need to be afraid of me. I promise I'm not going to hurt you." I was speaking so quietly to him that I knew even the people standing near us couldn't hear me. No one seemed to know how to react, not even the escort. "Now Milo, I need you to be very brave for me and come up on the stage with me. Can you do that?" Milo nodded his head. I stood up and started walking back towards the stage, but when I glanced down, Milo was nowhere to be found.

I looked back and saw that he was still in his spot, hands behind his back. I could feel my tears falling down my cheeks and swiped them away for him, not them. I wanted him to see that I was being brave, and he could too. I waved him forward, but he didn't come. Then I did what my mom always did for me when I was young. I kneeled back down and opened my arms for him.

Milo ran right for them and flung himself into me. I wrapped my arms around him quickly and put a protective hand over the back of his head as I stood up. I didn't want to look at anyone who'd just seen me in this very vulnerable moment. I knew the eyes would contain pity I didn't want, tears I didn't need, or anger that was already bubbling behind my own eyes. I walked Milo up the stairs, keeping my gaze solely on the escort, for I knew that she couldn't reveal whatever emotion she felt or Grant might have her head. The line between Capitol side and Rebel side was very clear, and escorts were on the Capitol side.

I reached the stage and Milo clenched his arms and legs even tighter around me. I wanted to put him down for this, but it clearly wasn't going to happen. The escort cleared her throat, "District Four, I give you your tributes for the ninth annual Hunger Games, Magara Lyons and Milo Rhodes." Her voice cracked when she said his name, and her voice was not enthusiastic like it'd been in the years before. I truly hoped that she wouldn't be punished for it. I hated Grant and the Capitol and the Games with a passion, but I didn't want anyone else to die, not even a shallow Capitolite. Besides, her emotion was understandable. In eight years, no one over the age of twelve had ever been reaped for the Games, but this boy was clearly younger than that. He spoke and looked like a six year old, but I prayed he was older than that. I glanced at Milo, who stared at the crowd with a quivering lip. "Hey," I whispered in his ear, "How old are you, Milo?" he looked back at me and whispered "seben" back.

I nodded, "Okay," so not six. Just a year older. I finally let my eyes roam the crowd, and fists were waving in the air, people were riled. And the ones who weren't hollering for a recast, were sobbing. Milo buried his head in my hair to hide from the yelling and rage the crowd had manifested. A seven year old boy was about to play the game to the death. And I was about to risk my life for him.

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_A/N: Let me know what y'all think! Thanks for reading:)_


	3. Chapter 2

_Enjoy, my lovelies! Thank you for reading!_

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Chapter 2

After the reaping, a peacekeeper led me to the Justice building where I would wait. I had no one to say goodbye to, so I'd just sit and wait for the train to come. The peacekeeper placed a hand on my back as I carried Milo down the hallway. "This way, ma'am." I nodded and hugged the little boy closer. "Where will he be going?"

"Right in here," he opened the door and I entered with Milo. "Okay," I murmured to him quietly, "your mom and dad are going to be right in to see you, okay Milo? I have to go but they'll be here soon, and I'll see you later on." How could I explain to a seven year old that his parents were coming to say goodbye to him? That we'd be heading into a deadly arena that his parents had probably covered his eyes to when he watched the Games in previous years?

Milo nodded and I stood up and left without looking back at him. I didn't want to notice how small he'd look compared to the peacekeeper or even the high ceiling room we were in. But the peacekeeper was running to catch up to me. "Your waiting room is right through here, miss," he opened the door that was across from Milo's now closed door.

I went inside and instantly crashed onto the couch, catching my breath with a hand clenched to my heart. "Are you alright?" I hadn't realized he was still standing in the doorway. "Yes," I dropped my hand from my chest and sat straighter. "You don't have to act tough for me. I saw the fear in your eyes when that little boy was reaped." I felt a chill run through me, "Excuse me?" I questioned coldly.

"You're afraid. I don't blame you. Keep hiding that fear, act strong, but I see right through it, that's all I'm saying." My eyes narrowed. "You don't know the first thing about me." I countered.

"What you did out there says a lot about a person." He argued. I wasn't sure why we were having this conversation. What did any of this matter? "And what does it say about me?" I asked anyway, my voice sounded much quieter, much weaker, even to my own ears. His eyes softened at my vulnerable tone. He glanced out into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He crossed the room to kneel in front of me. "It says that you're very brave, to do something like that, to show everyone that these Games are not games, that these children are real, and that Milo is too young."

I sighed, "Those may have been my thoughts, but I never meant to make it a statement for Panem." He shrugged, "Well you did, and it was pretty amazing."

I leaned towards him, meaning to intimidate, but he didn't back away, so our faces were inches apart. "What would a peacekeeper know about bravery or compassion?" He'd taken me off guard with his curiosity in me and his compliment, but I knew what he was. He was a monster just like President Grant. Everyone who wasn't uneasy about The Hunger Games was a monster. And peacekeepers were surely on the wrong side of the fight.

"I know more about those things than you'd think. We're not all evil, Magara." I narrowed my eyes at him, "It's Mags."

He stood and headed for the door without answering, but I called after him, "What's your name?" I asked.

"Avery Bennett. It was nice to meet you, Magara."

* * *

I sat on the couch tapping my foot after Avery left, staring at the clock. I didn't want to get up because I knew my head would start spinning. I kept forgetting to breathe and ended up clutching my heart again and taking in short, shallow breaths.

When the door swung open, I jumped to my feet and instantly saw black spots. Avery gave me one look and his eyes widened, "Sit down, Magara, you look like you're about to pass out."

"Mags," I corrected weakly, sitting back down in my seat. When my father followed Avery into the room, the black spots started coming back and I had to remind myself to breathe. "What are you doing here?" I asked. My dad fell to his knees in front of me and hugged my waist. I glanced up at Avery, who looked at me with a very clear question in his eyes,_ is it okay if he's here?_

I nodded to Avery and he slowly backed out of the room, closing the door silently. "Dad what are you doing here?" I asked again. My father wiped at the tears that were rolling down his cheeks and disappearing into his white beard. "When someone stopped by to tell me that my daughter was going into the arena, I came right over. I had to see you, baby. I know things have been rough but I had to say…"

"Goodbye?" I raised an eyebrow. He shook his head fiercely. "Fight, Mags. You can win, I've trained you for this before it even existed and that may not have been the best parenting choice but…you can beat anyone." I hesitated, "There's a little boy dad…he's only seven."

"I saw him. Protect him for as long as you can if that's what you want to do, but protect yourself too." I gave him a half smile, a very forced half smile. "And if it comes down to me and him?"

"Cross that bridge when you get to it." He answered quickly. This was why I always stuck by my dad. People feared him because he was still stuck in the revolution while everyone else had given up. He would pick fights with peacekeepers and get drunk and shit talk the President, but even the peacekeepers feared him. They had giant guns and protective armor but they still glanced down at their feet when Ridge Lyons passed by them. Yet here he was, not necessarily telling me to kill anyone I need to in order to get home. "But what if, dad? What if it comes down to me killing him or him killing me?"

He hesitated, "Do what feels right, baby." I already knew what felt right, and I could tell that he did too. I'd kill myself before I kill that little boy. "Bye, daddy." I smiled at him the best I could.

"Bye, sweetheart, I'll see you when you get back. And I'll fix this. I'll make this up to you. I promise." I shook my head, "this isn't your fault. You need to stop blaming yourself for the Hunger Games, dad. That's a lot of weight on one man's shoulders."

"It's okay," he said, "I deserve the weight." Avery stuck his head back in the room, "It's time, Mr. Lyons." Dad stood up and kissed my forehead, "Fight, sweetheart." He whispered and left, glancing back one more time as he passed by Avery. When my dad was out of sight, Avery came farther into the room instead of leaving. "God, what's wrong with you? Are you sick?" I asked harshly.

"Sorry?" he paused on his way towards me. "Why," I asked, "would you waste your time with a girl who's about to die? Why are you being so nice to me?" He sighed, sitting down beside me. I couldn't be sure, but I was almost positive that peacekeepers were supposed to stand guard at the door, not hang out with the tributes.

He handed me a tissue from his pocket, "I just thought you might want this." I took it and wiped my eyes. "That doesn't answer my question."

"You showed Milo compassion, I thought it was only fair that someone gave you some." I looked up at him like he was stupid. "You do realize that I'm about to go kill twenty three children to get home, right?"

"Yes. But that's not your fault. It's theirs," he gestured outside the room. "And you won't kill the boy." I narrowed my eyes, "once again, you don't know anything about me."

"I know you better than you think, Magara." I sighed, "I really wish you'd stop calling me that. He brushed the hair from my face and swiped a tear from my cheek in one movement. "Why?" he asked, "It's beautiful." I couldn't help but stare at him. "You are not seriously flirting with a girl about to die."

He smirked, "You and I both know that the odds are in your favor."

"Maybe they would be if it weren't for Milo." Avery nodded, "that's part of why you interest me so much. You're willing to die for a little boy you barely know."

"Maybe he reminds me of someone." Avery tried to read my face, but I'd gotten good at hiding my emotions. "Good luck, Magara. I really hope to meet you again someday." He leaned over to kiss my cheek before he left the room.

Another ten minutes passed and he opened the door to tell me the train had arrived and time was up.

* * *

The Capitol's reaction to Milo was heartbreaking. They actually seemed uncomfortable about a seven year old going into the Games. Milo's interview had been all innocence and cuteness, and uncomfortable laughter echoed through the building. They wanted to laugh as he showed the host his teeth that were coming in and at his speech, but their faces clearly reflected their confliction, it was like they were all secretly wondering how he'd die. It was written all over their faces.

I'd been told a million times by my escort that I needed to be more open and friendly in my interview. I'd rolled my eyes, but after seeing the first three districts woo the crowd, I knew I had to get the audience to notice me. So when the host asked me about Milo, I was honest. I told them that I was overcome with emotion when he stepped out of the crowd. And how heavy my heart felt when I tried to picture him wielding a weapon. It wasn't just for me though. I wanted people to fall in love with Milo like I had.

"So you want to protect Milo, then?" the host asked. I shrugged, "In eight years, no one above twelve years old has been reaped. I wasn't sure how to handle being from the same district as this little boy…it's a new, very hard thing to accept, that such an innocent person could die. But I also know that this is a deadly game, and I plan on coming out on top." At the same time, I didn't want the other tributes to think that they could get to me by using Milo.

"Big words for such a small girl."

I smiled slyly at the host. "I'm pretty confident in my abilities. Just wait until you see what I can do." I knew I might be putting a small target on my back, but it didn't seem like a mistake. It took the attention off Milo, plus maybe it scared some of them.

"Well, Mags, I can't say I've ever met anyone quite like you. You seem like a very promising tribute and I wish the best of luck to you."

Most of the others had gone for sweet or charming, and I wasn't sure how my intensity and cockiness would be perceived.

It wasn't until the next morning that we found out. My escort burst into our room in the Capitol clapping her hands, "Mags, you've already gotten yourself twenty different sponsors! This is incredible! No other tribute has ever received so many!" I shrugged, apparently my confidence was contagious. I talked like I was a Victor and they bought it. "What about Milo?" I asked, nudging his shoulder.

"Milo has done very well too. He has fourteen sponsors, the second highest!" I held out a hand for Milo to high five. He hit it as hard as he could and I recoiled my hand, shaking it like he'd hurt me. He giggled.

"Good job, buddy." He continued to smile, "Does this mean I win?" the escort and I both fell silent for a moment. "No honey," I whispered, "you haven't won just yet."

* * *

After spending my whole first day tying knots with Milo, I needed some comfort. What I really wanted to do was get some practice with that trident and ax. But he was too nervous to let go of my hand long enough for me to get the chance. I knew I needed to start my own training tomorrow if I wanted to stand a chance at protecting Milo.

Not many of the other tributes scared me, there was only a boy from district five who seemed intimidating, since he was nearly six feet tall. And then I noticed today that the girl from seven was quite skilled with an ax. The rest of them just seemed like frightened little puppies. All of the Victors before us were frightened puppies too. I supposed that it was because this was only the ninth year. I wondered how much longer this punishment would go on. When Grant was dead, would The Hunger Games end? Would the revolution and the Games just become a terrifying part of history that the future generations would cringe at? Or would The Hunger Games grow stronger, become an unbreakable tradition? Chills ran up my body, eight years had already been enough. I couldn't imagine how accustomed the world would be to The Hunger Games fifty years from now; how desensitized kids would be to the killing of others.

As I made my way to the elevator, already picturing myself crashing into bed, a hand stopped the door from closing. The girl from seven came in and hit her floor button. I'd left Milo with the escort, telling him I'd meet him upstairs. We'd spent the whole day together, I didn't need the rest of them to point and whisper about my and Milo's warped relationship. I prayed that they weren't already. A target on me was fine, but I didn't want anyone to be gunning for him. I hoped that he could fly under the radar, he obviously wasn't a threat. None of them wanted to kill him, so maybe they could just kill each other until Milo was left…with who? Me? So I hadn't gotten that far in the plan yet. The girl cleared her throat as the elevator rang and the doors opened for the fourth floor. Just as I stepped out, she hit the emergency button and I instinctively jumped back into the elevator. I stared at her for a moment as the doors closed again. "What the hell?" I asked. She smiled, "I wanted to have a word with you." Call me stupid or thoughtless or rash, but I didn't like her tone and I didn't like that grin on her face. I took one step and had her pinned against the wall, one hand around her neck. She was tiny, smaller than me since I could almost fit my entire hand around her scrawny neck. "How can I help you?" I asked.

Her eyes darted back and forth between mine. "I'm sorry, I couldn't think of another way to get you alone." I tightened my grip, "How about, 'hey Mags, could we have a word?' I think that would have worked just fine."

"Sure," she said, not believing me, "look I just wanted to ask you if you were interested in teaming up." I narrowed my gaze at her, "Is this a trick?"

"No, of course not. Why would I bother putting myself on the biggest threat's radar if I planned to cross her?"

I shrugged, good point. "So what, you and me? Take each other to the end and then duke it out in the final two? Is that your plan?" She pushed at my hand that still strangled her, and I released her, "Well that'd be ideal, but I know that boy is a part of your plans, so tell me what you want from me and I'm in. I'll help you protect him."

"First of all, why would you do that? Second of all, do you really expect me to trust you? And thirdly, we can manage on our own."

"I want an alliance, I'd be stronger with you than by myself, even if we are lugging a seven year old around. Yes, you can trust me, I have nothing to lose here…and I don't think you can manage by yourselves. Everyone is wondering how you're connected to the boy, you need to stop caring for him so publicly."

I stared at her, not sure what to say. She smiled sweetly up at me, "See?" she said, "I'm already helping."

A maintenance man pulled the doors open at that moment, and the girl waved her hand for me to leave, "Nice to meet you, Mags."

"You too…"

"Reagan." The doors closed on Reagan, and I was left standing in the fourth floor hallway, completely stunned. The last thing I expected was for someone to make an alliance with me. I may be the biggest threat, but keep your friends close and your enemies closer didn't apply to tributes. My cockiness turned them off, they didn't trust me. Besides Reagan that is.

She was ballsy, to give me advice like that, to ask me to team up, to put herself on my radar, as she said. Although she kind of already was in my sights. I saw her with that ax today, the lumbering district had clearly prepared her a little bit. She was a great shot with one of those things. Not to mention how different looking Reagan was. She had orange red hair, but more distinctly, she had one brown eye and one blue. I hadn't noticed it before, and probably never would have, had I not gotten in her face for five minutes straight. But she offered an interesting proposition that I knew I'd be thinking long and hard about, probably all night. Maybe having a strong ally on my side was a good thing. And suddenly it was a proposition that I knew I'd end up taking.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I still wasn't sure if my decision to make an alliance with Reagan was a good idea. As she sat across from Milo and I, every eye was on us. They all looked at us like we were going to kill them, which, in all reality, we probably would. And with that thought I looked down to stare at my food and didn't raise my eyes once for the rest of the meal.

"So what are we going to do about the Careers?" Reagan asked.

For the past four years of the Games, victors have been from districts one and two. Ever since the 5th Hunger Games, those districts have been known to team up. The weird thing was how quiet they stayed about it. They never sat together or got caught talking, it was just that when the Games began, they suddenly had an unspoken agreement to fight together. And last year, district 3 seemed to be included in the alliance.

A lot of people thought that it was Grant's way of repaying those districts for selling out the rest of us during the rebellion. But even that rumor is unclear. The rebels thought that 1 and 2 were with them, and the Capitol felt the same way.

Personally, I believe that districts one and two had a huge role in the rebels' loss. One Capitol against twelve districts…we should have come out on top. Something went wrong, and I'd be willing to bet that it had a lot to do with 1 and 2. As for last year, I think that the Careers just decided that six members was stronger than four, so they brought in district 3.

They'd been staring at Reagan, Milo and I like everyone else, but as I thought about them, I couldn't help but stare back. I was so lost in my thoughts that I stopped paying attention to Reagan. "Just give her a second, she'll zone back in." My eyes darted to Reagan, and then the six foot boy that stood beside her.

Growing up with my dad, I knew the first rule of a fight, never put yourself at a disadvantage. I jumped out of my seat, asserting myself in front of the boy from 5. He took a step back, his hands out in surrender. "Wasn't looking for a fight." He said.

"Simmer down, crazy." Reagan rolled her eyes at me. I put a hand on Milo's shoulder, "What do you want?" I asked him, still standing.

"Reagan said something about an alliance." I raised an eyebrow at Reagan, who shrugged. "Look, Mags, he's strong. I may have talked to him too."

"What's your problem?" I shot at her, "Why do you need to make friends? Why do you want an alliance? What's the point, only one of us is coming out of it."

"I know." She nodded at me like I was an idiot. "But see Mags, there are six of them. And four times out of eight, tributes from those districts have won. Four years in a row, one of them got out of there. Let's change it up." She said it like we should run a new play in a football game. "So what? You think the three of us can beat the six of them?" Reagan looked around us, and then motioned for 5 and me to sit down. I rolled my eyes, we were surrounded by every person that we'd have to kill to be the last ones standing, so of course they knew what we were talking about.

"Yeah," she said, "they may be more, but we're stronger. We can take them out and then worry about the rest."

"And each other." The boy said, offering her a loaded look. She shrugged, "If we're going to do this, we can't get soft on each other when our time is up."

I nodded, "Fine." I agreed more due to lack of sleep and annoyance than actual strategy. But if I was thinking strategy, teaming up with my biggest physical threats seemed pretty smart. At least then I wouldn't die from a mistake a made and let someone weaker than me take me out. They'd have my back until there was no one left to kill. When it came to trusting them, there was no reason not to. The three strongest players sticking together was a smart move, there was no reason for them to betray me.

"Fine," the boy from five said, "I'm Luke."

"Mags," I shook his hand, and when he tried to pull away, I tightened my grip. "Betray me, and you'll regret it." I leveled a look at Reagan as well. They both nodded in silence. I guess that was the best thing about this alliance, they both knew that I could kill them in a split second if I needed to. So all they had to do was not give me a reason.

* * *

I was lucky enough to break free of Milo for some time to practice with knives and a bow, but I felt strongest with a sword in my hands. I wasn't sure why, I'd never even touched a sword before I got to the Capitol, but I'd been working with one for the past week, and a couple days ago, the trainer even put another one in my other hand, giving me drills to do that made me focus on two targets, to use both of them.

I hadn't spoken to Reagan or Luke again since that dinner. But Reagan always offered a sly smile or a wink when I saw her, and Luke and I had gotten into a routine of nodding at each other when we passed.

I even had to start distancing myself from Milo. I stayed away from him at training and at meals, but I always had an eye on him. For the most part, it seemed like people had forgotten about our little foursome alliance. We each sat by ourselves, just like everyone else. But the room felt different tonight. We'd be going into the arena tomorrow, and the Careers had given in on keeping their alliance secret. The six of them sat at a corner tale of the dining room with their heads huddled together, clearly discussing their strategy for tomorrow.

I looked at Reagan and she winked, Luke and he nodded, and I checked on Milo, who had his head down and was eating his food, just like any other day. He probably couldn't even pick up on the tension in this room. On top of the fact that the Games started tomorrow, the Careers decided to go public with their alliance. It may be hypocritical since Reagan, Luke and I did the same thing a few days ago, but the six of them huddled up just pissed me off.

Then the boy from district two stood up, and with shaky hands made his way across the room. He was staring right at me, and I felt every cell in my body spark to life. My mind was instantly taking notes of the knives on tables nearby, the chair that was pushed out, different details that I could use to help me if he started a fight. But his eyes were frightened, and he glanced away from me as he passed. I stared after him, unsure what he was doing when he suddenly shoved Milo's plate from the table he sat at. Milo and I both stared at the boy from two. Part of me was wondering what he was trying to prove, and the other part of me wondered how damn stupid this kid was. He grabbed the back of Milo's chair and rested his other hand on the table. I stood up and started heading towards them, "You ready for the Games, little man?" the tribute from two asked. My reactions may have been delayed, but I was just so confused.

He'd stared at me like he was afraid. His hands were shaking, and even his voice sounded frightened. Who tries to intimidate a seven year old with an uneven voice? "Is there a problem here?" Milo and the boy from two looked up at me. Before he even answered, the boy glanced back at his table of Careers. He avoided eye contact with me as he straightened and walked away.

It made sense all of a sudden. This had nothing to do with Milo. They just wanted to know where I stood. They used Milo to lure me into defending him, to prove to everyone that I cared about him. And like an idiot I bought it.

I looked at Milo for another second, and then I reacted. In my head, I didn't see why it mattered, I'd just proven the Careers point, we were going into the arena tomorrow, so why not remind some people why I was the threat in this Game. Since they had clearly forgotten. I picked up a knife from a girl who had been trying very hard to mind her own business. I aimed it at district two's head and threw. I knew how to make it swerve, so it landed in the wall behind him.

I picked up two more and bounded towards the Careers. The waiters were too surprised and untrained to stop me. When I reached their table, I sunk the first knife into the table by district two's hand. I heard him gasp, and I quickly circled around him so that I stood behind his chair, my arms on both sides of him as I sunk my second knife into the table.

"Listen, two," I murmured into his ear, knowing that everyone was watching, "I don't know if you know this about me, but I have a very short temper. And I also tend to be vindictive, spiteful. So if you mess with me…I'll let that temper free. If you somehow manage to make it through tomorrow, because now I have a nice big, red target on your forehead, but if you do live, that vengeful side of me will hunt you down every day in that arena until you do die. You can pass that message along to your friends here, because it applies to all of them."

I left my knives where I'd put them as I headed for the door, nodding to Milo to follow me. He did, and I hurried him into the elevator, wondering if that was a stupid reaction. My instinct was to protect Milo, to threaten the Careers. Unfortunately I didn't have much time to think about it, since as soon as the elevator door closed until it was time for bed, I listened to Milo talk about it. He repeated the same things over and over, explaining what happened in the dining hall to our escort and to me three more times. "That. Was. So. Cool. You just marched right up to him and stuck knives in the table and scared the crap out of all of them! You shoulda seen their faces, Mags! They were so scared of you. What did you say to him, anyway?"

I refused to tell Milo what I'd told the boy from district two, but that didn't stop him from asking. Twenty more times. By nine o'clock he'd talked himself out. He was exhausted, and I carried him into his room to tuck him in. I usually made up some stories or sang him to sleep, but it looked like I didn't have to tonight. It made me sad, which I wasn't expecting. I was sad that I'd never have to sing or read to this little boy again. I guess that made sense, if I really thought about it. Everything would be different tomorrow. Milo and I's whole relationship would change. I'd go from the fun, caring girl to an obsessed, protective, killing monster. I wasn't so much afraid for myself. I was more afraid of Milo seeing me do something like that. What if he sees me kill someone? Will he be so scared of me that he never speaks to me again? I realized that I found as much comfort in Milo as I'd been giving to him, and I really wasn't looking forward to losing that.


End file.
